A Few Backstories Retold
by DubstepNation
Summary: The history of people is a fast, fluid motion of time, but what about a nation's? For them, it's years of imprisonment, torture, and sometimes, happiness, and freedom. Oh yes, time is very different for nations indeed. Rated for mentions of rape/blood/gore/language/whatever else there is. Contains canon and OC characters.
1. Chapter 1: Iraq

OC belongs to me, this story contains mentions of rape/torture, hetalia is Not owned by me. DERP.

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Iraq.

It was during the Ottoman Empire. He had disobeyed Ottoman, who grabbed him by the shoulder a steered the young nation into a private area. The Arab expected to be hit, scolded, or reprimanded in some fashion. How woefully wrong he was.

It was something he wouldn't wish on anyone, not even to this day. The heat of the room and the pleasurable moans from Ottoman, mixed with his own pain-filled cries, had gone unnoticed by the rest of the household. When Ottoman was satisfied, he lectured the half-awake boy, before leaving the room.

Iraq had stumbled forward, slipped on his pants, limping out of the wretched room, desperate to get away from THAT ROOM. Egypt and Greece had tried to stop and talk to him, but he waved both boys off. He didn't want to chat right now.

The minute he walked into the living room Ukraine, Armenia, and Hungary swarmed him, but Ukraine shushed both other girls, before tenderly saying;

"Iraq, honey, your bleeding, are you alright? Ali, your walking with a limp." A dam broke inside of him. He sobbed. Ukraine held him, rocking back and forth, rubbing his back, cooing soothing words in his ear.

Armenia and Hungary stared at the scene before them, then at each other.

"What do we do?" Hungary asked the older girl softly.

"I don't know." Armenia replied to the confused Hungarian, "but I do remember when Palestine came back the same way. He's been... Defiled."

Hungary gasped. Ottoman had just traumatized Iraq, probably for the rest of his life. She couldn't believe the cocky, happy-go-lucky boy was probably now a thing of the past.

Ukraine took Iraq to another room, and sat there with him for a good while while he calmed down. He had cried for a long time. He cried till his stomach hurt and his face was hot. Till he could barely breath. Till his words slurred and wouldn't come out right. Till he couldn't trill his tongue the way he needed to speak Arabic to Ukraine.

"You will be alright." The Ukrainian cooed, stroking his hair, "You can spend as long as you need here, this is my room. I figured you would want someone close."

She was right. He did want someone close, but he also wanted to be as far away from people as he could.

He had been violated, defiled, touched, abused, he had...

He had been raped.

A second dam burst and more tears flowed, along with a stream of words explaining exactly what happened to Miss. Ukraine.

Ukraine's face twisted into an expression of anguish upon hearing these things. She gently stood.

"I'm going to go talk to Ottoman, you rest ok?" She stated, before slowly walking out of the room.

Iraq curled up on the bed, the pain in his abdomen to strong to ignore anymore.

Ukraine found Ottoman in the study.

"What was that?" She demanded.

"What was what?" Ottoman replied calmly, setting a book on his desk.

"What did you do to Ali?" She asked, fuming now.

"I taught him a lesson." He stated cooly, reaching for his book.

Ukraine's hand darted forward. She snatched the book and threw it across the room, where it hit a wall, emitted a loud, audible thump throughout the house.

"I asked, 'What did you do to Ali?'!" She asked again, raising her voice.

"And I told you that I taught the little bastard a lesson, now you go pick that up right now!" He dictated.

"You traumatized him!" She cried, "Ottoman, he just barely reached the physical age of fifteen, he's a child!"

"He's older than you and me! Let him take it like a man!"

"That 'man' you speak of is curled up on my mattress crying an ocean full!"

"Let him tough it out!"

"I will not!" She delivered in a shriek, throwing her hands skyward.

Ottoman drew his hand back-

SMACK!

A sickening crack of leather glove meeting delicate facial flesh echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls before settling on the floor.

Ukraine had dropped her hands. Slowly, she raised a shaking one, grazing it over her cracked lip, which gushed blood. A red welt was already appearing on her face, it was a clear hand shape.

"U-Ukraine, I-"

"Save it." She scrambled out of the room, looking as dignified as she could, determined not to cry.

She slammed the study doors shut, stomped to her room, flinging open the door and shutting it.

Iraq sat up a little, letting out a small groan. He rubbed his eyes. They were still wide with fear.

"Y-your lip..."

"It is nothing, you go back to resting ok?" She patted his head, slapping on a smile.

"Miss. Ukraine?"

"Yes?"

"We both know that's not true."

"I know." She tended to her lip, "but maybe someday it will."

~fin~


	2. Chapter 2: Texas, part 1

**this story contains ricks falling on people, and history. Hetalia not owned by me.**

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Texas.

The battle of the Alamo. The bloodiest in the her revolution. And as a final act of evil towards his sister, Mexico had grabbed her away from her spot, grieving as she held the body of Jim Bowie, and threw her at a standing wall, causing it to collapse on her. The Mexicans left, leaving her for dead.

"Big Sis!" A small voice cried out. It gripped to her ears like a vice would a piece of wood.

Texas was pinned under several hundred pounds of stone, and if it weren't for her current state, would have been free by now.

"Big Sis!" The voice cried again. It was closer.

The voice sounded familiar, like a family member of hers-

"Okie." She whispered through cracked, fraying lips.

The little boy must have heard her, for a split second later, he had appeared before her.

"Hi baby." She reached her free hand out to caress her younger brother's cheek.

"Big Sis, please get up! We need to go home before Mexico gets back!" The child tugged on her free hand.

"Sweetie, I'm stuck." She said, pointing to the rock.

"I can fix it!" He effortlessly lifted the rocks off, being extra careful. Her younger brother held out his hand, "Home?"

She took it, pulling herself up and steading herself on a remaining wall, she agreed.

"Home."

~fin~


	3. Chapter 3: Egypt

**historical. Dubzie no own hetalia.**

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Egypt.

September 9, 1940,  
World War 2,  
Western Egypt.

The sky was clear, maybe a few British planes in the sky, but that's what happens when a Brit wants your country. And that's what he had become.

A commonwealth of England.

What an awful name. What would his Arab allies think? They would probably be laughing at him if it was not for England also holding Iraq between his thumb and forefinger.

Damn Anglo-Saxons.

A thrum of an airplane engines sounded from overhead, it was a normal noise, one that Egypt was used to, but this was different, the humming the engine was making was to deep, it almost sounded-

Rat-ta-ta-ta-tat!

FUCKING ITALIANS!

How did they get all the way over here, and why did Germany send them instead of the Japanese, or some random German squad? Seriously, did they really want northern Africa, or did they just want to say, 'hey! I invaded Africa!'?

"I'm so, so sorry Gupta." An airy, light voice said from behind him. Egypt felt his face go white.

"You of all people." His grip tightened on his staff, "tell me, how long does germanization fucking take?"

"I'm sorry! You have to understand, he asked me to! I didn't have a choice in the matter!" The sound of a gun being cocked.

"Is this because we're Muslim, or a commonwealth of the Anglo?" He asked, still not turning to face the other. If he wanted to shoot him, the Italian would look him in the eyes.

"Gupta! Gupta just forgive me for what's about to happen!" A gun barrel pressed to the back of his head. The material of his keffiyeh creased and bunched around the metal ring, "your an Italian territory now. Get moving."

He stared ahead, standing there, not moving. The sands moved. The dogfight overhead got worse. Plane Debris and bullet shells fell like rainfall.

His staff.

His knees buckled and he swung his body around to face the Italian as he swung his staff over to take out Italy's knees. He shrieked in surprise as he fell on his butt.

"You should have thought twice before attacking me, إيطاليا." He snarled.

"Ve~ I'm just getting started." That was the most sinister thing he had ever heard leave Italy's lips.

Upon sitting back up, Feliciano assaulted him with several blows, most of them to the abdomen, but one clipped his jaw and another looked like it was meant for his nose, but he dived out of the way in time.

Egypt tried to back away, vomiting blood the way most people spit, it dribbling out of his mouth, getting on his scarf and uniform. His head lurching forward from coughs that wracked his body, forcing up the blood.

"Please surrender now, ok? Ve~ hurting people makes me so sad..." Italy said in his chipper, upbeat voice.

"Then why do you do it?" Gupta bared his bloody teeth in a feral manner.

"Because I have to!" He protested, walking over to him, "don't you understand?" He slammed Egypt's head into his knee. The crackle of cartilage told him his nose was broken, "Germany told me to!" Egypt's hearing was failing him. His eyes rolled listlessly. What was the Italian saying?

"Ve~ are you listening you dirty scum?" Italy grabbed his hair through the keffiyeh and pulled him up to look the other male in the eyes, "My, what pretty earrings. Did turkey give you those? I used to kick his ass." The Italian giggled in an almost sadistic manner. What had war done to the innocent boy who had been afraid of his shadow? "Nighty-night, sleep tight!"

CRUNCH!

Gupta Hassan woke up an Italian territory.

~fin~


	4. Chapter 4: Israel and Iran

**this, is ideology sensitive stuff. Also contains platonic!IranXIsrael.**

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Israel & Iran.

A man cursed. Nira didn't know what about, but the language sounded just like what her papa used to speak to her about.

"You!" She ran over to the person who had cursed in the foreign language, "Your Persia!"

He looked at her, first snarling, but his expression changed when he saw a little girl of no more that six in front of him.

"That's an old name." He said.

"I'm Israel!" She cried happily, making the man's face go white.

"H-he said you where dead.." Persia said.

"Who?" She asked, turning to him.

"M-my dad.. The original Persia, and, and Iraq! They both said Israel was dead." He exclaimed.

"I'm new Israel." She explained.

"That's it then?" He asked, "your explanation? Your the NEW one? Jeez, you think you can replace a country that's been gone for hundreds of years?"

"It's coming." She said, "then end of the war, it's coming, and when it does, we will be free, and the children of Israel will be unbound by the chains that hold them so tightly."

From that day on, Iran didn't let Israel out of his sight. At all costs, including pushing her forward during a surprise selection and feigning tripping to make her seem more appealing to the S.S. For work. He watched Israel grown up inside the walls of Auschwitz-Birkenau. From a small child to a young teenage girl. And still they where not killed.

Then came the death marches.

The Russians where so painfully close but just missed then as they marched out, for hours, days. No breaks. Travel on cattle cars. One hundred people per car, but when they arrived at the next place, there was a lonely six left in their car.

Onward their death march stretched, to Gleiwitz.

Crossing into the gate, Iran and Israel had toppled over bodies to get to a place to rest. Then next few days where a blur, until the day of their liberation.

"Hey, you guys, look, nations! It two nations!" The blonde, America, had called to his friends.

He hated that America had found them and returned them to were they belonged. That England had forged Israel and Jordan countries. That England had freed Iraq and Egypt.

That he had fallen in love with the enemy.

~fin~


End file.
